


In Her Element

by BeautifullyObsessed



Series: Crimes of the Heart [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Courtship, F/M, Passion, Romance, Romance and Passion, a night for celebrating, a pleasant compromise, a startling realization, champagne on ice, good things do come to those who wait, held over--an actor's dream, it's more than chemical, meet my dearest friends, no longer postponed, patience rewarded, she just has a way of getting what she wants, the old-fashioned kind that leaves you breathless & wanting more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifullyObsessed/pseuds/BeautifullyObsessed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A light and romantic beginning, but content rating to change with later chapters.  </p><p>Their courtship continues, with each meeting providing surprises enough to keep Sherlock interested. Tessa manages it all with the lightest of touches, while Sherlock continues to believe he is conducting the affair on his own terms. The breaking news that the play has been held over for several more performances has Tessa in delight, as she convinces Sherlock to join her in celebrating with her & her friends.  They reach a compromise and he agrees.  Unknown to both, this night will change things--at long last--with the evening to end far from how Sherlock would ever expect.  </p><p>"The pivotal moment having arrived at last, Tessa wanted only to do right by this man who had finally reached the crossroads where she’d been lingering, hoping for him to join her. She had craved him for a while now, but his vulnerability as he stood before her, was enough to give her pause.  This was now as much a matter of his heart and what he needed, as an answer to mutual physical desire. Tessa felt the responsibility settle around her own heart, and knew she could give him the things, perhaps, no one ever had."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I, of course, don't have any claim to the BBC Sherlock world, and am entirely enamored by its every detail, as provided by the many amazing Artists involved in its creation. All credit to them, and to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I never in my life dreamed Sherlock Holmes could capture my imagination so! But I'm so very glad he has.
> 
> I suppose now is finally the time to mention this: that I agree with Stephen Moffatt regarding Sherlock's non-expression of emotion. It was a quote I read recently (wish I could recall where, as I'd like to add it here); summed up, he said that it's not that Sherlock doesn't feel, it's quite the opposite. He feels deeply, which is why he works so hard to eliminate feelings as the distraction they would be. I see a very deep heart beating inside this brilliant man, but one that's known its share of scars--being misjudged, being misinterpreted, being misunderstood--and misunderstanding the nuances of human emotion. The perpetual outsider, who chooses to remain dispassionate as much as an armor of sorts against these things taking their toll, as to allow his mind to function at highest efficiency. And I want so badly for Someone to give him what he's been missing; I know there are characters in the series that do and have, to varying degrees, but since I'm a Hopeless Romantic, I had to give it a whirl myself. Utterly self-indulgent, I know, but how I've been loving writing it! 
> 
> Anyway......if you have read any of my past fictions, you know that Tessa DeMauro is an American actress making a quiet living on the London stage. Not a "star" by any means, just one of the lucky few able to earn her daily bread doing what she loves best. That she has found a place in the life of the enigmatic & compelling Sherlock Holmes is a constant marvel to her. Please treat with her patiently, Kind Reader, as she means only the best entering this already established world.

As Sherlock waited for Tessa in his usual place near the stage door, he noticed that the actors and technicians leaving the theatre in small groups seemed to be discussing something in extremely animated tones. He caught bits and pieces of conversation as they passed, and from what he heard he determined that the run of  _Twelfth Night_  had been extended. He quickly realized that Tessa would be delighted, and decided to let her tell him herself, rather than act the show-off that had already figured it out.

A few minutes later, Tessa came through the door, laughing with two women he recognized as part of the Ensemble. She looked for him at once, shot him a glowing smile, and turned back to her friends. They were telling her she just had to come out now, everyone would be there, the champagne was already on ice. She glanced at him again, and Sherlock heard her reply "Yes, I'll do my best." before parting company from them.

Tessa walked over to him, beaming with the good news, face flushed with happy colour. She immediately threw her arms around him, kissing his cheek sloppily. "Wonderful news, Sherlock," she exclaimed, still holding him tight. He loosened her embrace enough to see her face, "Really?" he asked, in as surprised a tone as he could command, "And just what is it?"

Her smile was irrepressible, as she went on to tell him, "We've been held over for twelve more performances. I can't begin to describe how thrilled I am!" She hugged him even closer than the first. "You understand what this means?"

Sherlock was honestly perplexed, as the whole thing seemed fairly obvious. She read as much on his face, and so explained, "It means I don't have to say goodbye to Viola, just yet. It means I get to play her three more times than I'd expected." Tessa's face was earnest and excited, and she was clearly hoping he would grasp how important this was to her.

"Of course," he answered quickly, covering his brief fumble, "I should have realized that myself." Sherlock recalled a recent conversation; she had seemed somewhat maudlin one evening, and when he inquired why, she'd told him she was dreading the "inevitable letting go" that was fast approaching. Tessa had even warned him she might be sad and maybe a little weepy for a bit after the show closed, but that it was perfectly normal and he wouldn't need to be concerned. She'd told him it was all part of the process, especially when one was very connected to a particular role, or even to one's castmates. That she had forewarned him made it evident she was looking for future emotional support in the matter; it didn't seem prudent to tell her at the time that he was surely the wrong man for the job. This delay gave him a welcome period of grace from that concern.

Seeing Sherlock  _did_  understand the significance of the moment, Tessa went on happily, "So, most of the cast and crew are stepping out to celebrate; champagne, the works." She was watching him keenly, "And I know you usually don't go for such things, but I thought, perhaps," she hesitated here, for this was the crux of the conversation, "I was hoping that you could make an exception and join me?" Tessa's expression was almost completely sincere, with only a bit of dramatization added to tip the balance in favor of the answer she was seeking.

Her eyes were wide with her plea, and Sherlock felt she'd backed him into a corner. How  _could_  he decline? Tessa looked so elated and hopeful; he couldn't see himself playing the villain, saying "no". Yet he couldn't give in too easily, else she would think he'd become an easy mark for her pretty little schemes. Sherlock gritted his teeth a bit, "Really, Tessa? Is it truly necessary for me to come along?" He arched his brow with the air of one wishing to rise above.

Tessa slid both arms around his waist, looking up at him, daring him to deny her request. "You beautiful man, you—you wouldn't force me to go alone now, would you?" She batted her lashes at him, pursing her lips in a mock pout.

Sherlock gave a loud, put-upon sigh, "Very well, then…" and then she was kissing him with zest and oh-so-very publically, which he usually took great care to avoid. When the kiss broke, he cleared his throat, telling her in a confidential tone, "On condition, though."

Tessa gave him a sidelong look, asking him tentatively, "Yes?"

He chucked her gently under her chin, "First, there will be none of  _that_  in front of your friends and associates." Tessa opened her mouth to object, but he continued, "Next, we will not be whiling the night away there. Two glasses of champagne for you, my dear, and then its home we go."

She tried to look exasperated, but Sherlock could tell she was satisfied with the terms he offered. "I suppose I can make do with that," she answered with a sigh, "but you have to play nice with my friends a bit." She rolled her eyes, chuckling, "or at least allow me an introduction or two. If they hadn't seen you lurking at the stage door several times, they'd think you were a figment of my imagination."

That, of course, was how Sherlock had hoped to keep things. With as little fuss and bother as possible. As he'd succeeded in keeping his closest friend in the dark about this…this?-he smiled fondly, remembering the night he'd told Tessa that this was a "courtship"—he saw no reason to bring any others into the pleasant little bubble of distraction he was managing with her. And as much as he might rue it later, he knew that quiet balance was about to change.

"Well then, let's get this over with, shall we?" He held out his arm to her, and Tessa took him by his upper arm, pressing against him in the way she  _knew_  damned well he found hard to resist. Her kiss upon his cheek was all innocence, however, to conform to their agreement.

"This way," she told him merrily, "it's not far at all."

_(to be continued)_

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was tight-lipped as they entered the restaurant, but he’d agreed to come along because it meant so very much to Tessa.  He knew it would entail meeting some of her friends, at long last; he had successfully avoided it previously, despite her occasional requests.  And he had to admit, she never pestered him upon his denials, or sulked at all to try and get her way, so it seemed only fair to finally say yes. Tessa hadn’t said it out loud, but he believed she sensed--quite rightly--that he _had_ to proceed slowly; that the whole experience was so very new to him that she had to take care not to make him bolt before the chance came to see if they had the potential for something long term.He valued her patience more and more each day.

So…..he supposed these introductions were inevitable, if they were to continue their relationship.  He supposed eventually he would even let John in on the secret, although he dreaded the ribbing that was certain to follow (once John got over the shock of it, of course).

But to the matter at hand; his best game face was called for.  Tessa was leading him towards a back corner of the restaurant, where several tables had been grouped together, a cacophony of various conversations greeting them well before they reached the area.  Sherlock estimated there were at least two dozen people there, laughing, drinking, and generally enjoying the company and champagne, which was flowing quite freely.

Before they’d even taken seats at the crowded table, Sherlock heard a man’s  deep voice calling to Tessa that he’d saved a seat for her.  She wagged an admonishing finger at the man, shaking her head, then turned to smile at Sherlock reassuringly.  Sherlock placed the man’s face quickly enough—the actor who played Duke Orsino.  He was glad that Tessa had rejected the saved seat, glad that her hand was firmly in his.  He was already starting to regret acquiescing to her request.

At last, though, Tessa found room enough for them to sit side by side, and in moments Sherlock watched as a champagne glass was pressed upon her.  She considered it a moment, then turned to ask him, “Will you have some?”

“No, not just yet,” her told her.  He was deliberating ordering something stronger, should a server come around.  

How out of place he felt, but all he could do was grin and bear it.  Tessa, aware of his discomfort, leaned over to him, kissing his cheek in violation of their agreement.  Well, at least it was _just_ his cheek; he was noticing that these theatre people were very free with their public displays of affection, so he gathered Tessa was actually treating him with some reserve.  That was until she laid her hand on his leg, beneath the table; it was the lightest of touches, and in the midst of her lively conversation with the woman to her right, he wondered if she even realized she’d done it.  Surprising himself, Sherlock found he actually liked the feel of her familiarity in so public a setting, and when Tessa turned back to him, the glint of her eyes told him she was enjoying it too.  He moved closer to her, telling her confidentially “I think I’ll have some champagne, after all.”

And so he sat, the quiet observer, trying to smile at the proper times, watching the interplay of Tessa’s peers.  There was quite a lot of ribald banter and more than enough superfluous flirtations.  Groups broke up and reformed as people left one seat in favor of another, so that movement seemed  fairly constant.  Yet Tessa remained at his side, still sipping her first glass of champagne, and finally the time arrived—the ginger-haired one was zeroing in on them.  Sherlock narrowed his eyes, searching for her name…..Jenna.  The boisterous, brassy one, the one Tessa had told him was infamous for her love affairs, but loyal to a fault to her closest friends.  She took the seat opposite him, finishing off a nearly full glass of champagne and setting it on the table between them.  She nodded to Tessa, and turning to Sherlock, gave him a wink and a bold grin.  This, he thought, should prove interesting.

“Ah ha!” she exclaimed, “so you’re the one has our Tessa so befuddled.  About time you came around.”  She extended her hand to him, and when he met it, her grip was surprisingly firm and lingering.  “I’m Jenna Weston, but I’m sure Tessa’s told you about me.”  She winked again, then turned to Tessa; tipping her head in Sherlock’s direction, her grin even wider, she teased her friend, “Not bad, but can he dance?”

Tessa sighed in mild exasperation; she had expected Jenna to come on strong—it was her way—and it was one of the things she loved best about her.  With a shake of her head, Tessa replied, “Well, it hasn’t quite come up yet.”  She turned to Sherlock, addressing him as much as answering Jenna, “But I’m sure if he chooses to, it will be marvelously.  He’s brilliant at _everything_ he does.”  She arched her brow and bit her lip--as was, so often, her habit-- and Sherlock could actually feel the heat of a blush rise in his cheeks.  And he had still to even speak a single word to Tessa’s friend.

He felt a bit like he was adrift in a dingy without oars, for it appeared Jenna was waiting on an equally witty rejoinder to her comments.  Tessa was quick to throw him a lifeline, slipping her hand onto his forearm, “Sherlock solves the cases that baffle Scotland Yard, sometimes without even leaving his flat.” He liked the note of pride in her voice. “And among his many accomplishments, he plays the violin with the soul of artist.”

Sherlock was unaccustomed to anyone talking him up in such a way.  It warmed him as much as the champagne had done.  “Tessa’s description fell short of relaying your vibrancy, Ms. Weston.  I’m glad to finally meet you.”

“Touché, Mr. Holmes.”  Jenna replied, with a hearty laugh, “You just be sure to take good care of our girl here.  She’s got a very soft spot for you, ya know.”  Sherlock liked what he saw behind Jenna’s smile—loyalty to her friend, enough to challenge any comer who might seek to hurt Tessa.  He nodded, smiling crookedly.  He knew he wasn’t through the gauntlet just yet, as there was still at least one more of Tessa’s friends waiting in the wings.

Jenna picked up her empty glass, saying as she rose, “I’m parched.  And that bottle over there is calling my name.”   She winked, at Tessa this time, and quickly moved off to the far end of the table, landing in the lap of another of the actors, ruffling his hair before planting a full kiss on his lips.  He promptly refilled her glass, returning the favor by nuzzling her neck.

Tessa looked a just a little sheepish, but said fondly, “I _did_ tell you about her.”

Sherlock chuckled, “Yes you did.  And clearly you did not exaggerate.”

Tessa was looking at him, softly, as though she was mulling something over.  It was one of those times when he couldn’t quite read her; times that he had grown to enjoy for the challenge they presented.  She looked down, running a hand through her hair, then finished her champagne.  Whatever it had been, it would have to wait, for the second of Tessa’s best-loved friends was approaching.

A polar opposite to Jenna, Sylvie was a quiet, petite, mother of two.  Sherlock concluded, from the wedding and engagement rings she wore, that she lived a more comfortable lifestyle than most actors populating off-West End productions.  Tessa had told him that Sylvie’s husband, Jasper, was a scenic designer, whose work was in constant demand.  She’d also told him Sylvie had a wicked sense of humor, and could be very bawdy when in her cups.  Sherlock braced himself for what might come.

Sylvie bore two glasses of champagne, handing one to Tessa as she said, “I see Jen’s made her presence known.”  She looked to Sherlock, “I hope she wasn’t too naughty to you, Mr. Holmes.  Or left you thinking poorly of our little company.”

“Not at all. She was nearly the picture of good behavior.” he replied, with an honest smile, “And you must be Sylvie.”

“Oh, Tessa has mentioned me, has she?”.  Her voice took on an edge of affectionate reproach, as she turned to Tessa, “She’s told us very little about you…”

“That’s not true,” Tessa exclaimed, in mock indignation, “I’ve shared all the pertinent information.”  She looked to Sherlock for a response. 

He marveled again at how easily Tessa could lead the way for him in social situations; he saw immediately how she intended for him to answer.  “Tessa knows I prefer discretion whenever possible.

“Right.  That sounds like Tessa.”  Sylvie pulled the chair out to take a seat, asking politely, “May I?”

“Of course,” Tessa answered, “We’ve been waiting for you to join us.”                                       

* * *

 

Tessa was savoring her second glass, and Sherlock now felt comfortable enough to leave her for a visit to the restroom.   He returned to find the little crowd had closed her off from him, but he was not concerned.  In fact, he found he appreciated the opportunity to observe her from a distance, to watch the ebb and flow of the people around her and how she interacted with them.  Her easy laugh reached his ears from time to time, making him smile in his solitude.  He also noticed a man or two paying her extra attention that they had not done in _his_ presence.  Tessa herself seemed not to pay it any heed.

He was glad to see, throughout his observation, that Tessa craned her neck several times in search of him.  After about ten minutes, she began to look perplexed, and it was apparent she was no longer focused on the people around her. Why, he wondered, should such a minor thing make him so unexpectedly happy?  It wasn’t as though she showed any real interest in _any_ of the men nearby; he was beyond certain she only cared to have him at her side.  Sherlock shortly realized she was truly missing him, and as satisfying as that felt, he knew he should remedy that.  He began to walk toward the table where she sat, when he saw Tessa rise, looking for him more seriously.  The relief on her face when she spotted him made his breath catch a bit.  She gave him a little wave, raising what had to be the remains of her third glass of champagne, in his direction.  Then she was moving through the crowd, to meet him at the table’s edge.

Sherlock leaned in close, so Tessa could hear him clearly above the laughter and conversations around them.  He chided her gently, his tone indulgent in the face of her wide-eyed attention, “You did agree ‘only two glasses’.”

The champagne had warmed her nicely, amplifying somewhat her natural tendency to behave flirtatiously. This did not surprise Sherlock, but he also knew she always saved her best only for him.  Tessa bit her lip, laying her hand lightly upon the lapel of his jacket, “It was only a wee bit more.”  Her smile was ingenuous, waiting for his response.

Sherlock tsk’d softly, brushing back a few strands of her hair, enjoying how that little gesture made her press closer to him.  “No,” he told her, his voice soft with lenience, “it was a full glass more.”

Tessa arched a brow, answering cheekily, “I did drink it quickly, though.”

Sherlock gave an involuntary smile, unable to even _feign_ annoyance in the face of her pretty defense, "Indeed you did."

Tessa sighed quietly and gave him the lightest of kisses.  Her lips tasted pleasantly of the champagne.  "Just let me say my goodbyes," she asked, ceding the victory to him, "and you can take me where you will."  She moved purposefully through the crowd to take her leave of Sylvie and Jenna; the later gave him a nod and a smile that seemed to imply he had ulterior motives for drawing Tessa away from them.  To that, he didn’t quite know how to react, looking down, a little self-conscious.

* * *

 

After the closeness of the restaurant, the cool night air felt refreshing. Tessa slid her hand into his without a word.  Her skin was warm as it ever was; warm, soft, and as familiar now as his own.  Sherlock realized that she had managed this feat—making such little things seem like second-nature to him-- quietly, as she had managed each step forward in their relationship, patiently and unobtrusively.  Never once a demand, but simple perseverance as she waited confidently for him to come around. 

Curious as to why he seemed so solemn, concerned she had pushed Sherlock too far, Tessa asked him if everything was alright.  “Perfectly fine,” he told her, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well…” Tessa paused, “I just hope my friends didn’t come on too strongly.  I know the whole evening might have been….hmmmm…. too melodramatic for your liking.” Tessa looked to him earnestly, “But I’m very glad you joined us tonight.  Its means a lot to me that you were willing to endure that.” 

“It wasn’t all that unpleasant,” Sherlock said, stopping to look at her reaction, “and it was ……enlightening….to watch you in that context.”

Tessa’s brow was furrowed, “Context?”

“In your…”…Sherlock pursed his lips, searching for a better way to say it, “…where you seemed so comfortable and at home.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, “And you were perfect; I’m sure you won my friends over with ease.”   Tessa was facing him now, her eyes wide again, looking her softest, “You certainly won _me_ over, but I suppose that’s my weakness, isn’t it?”  She closed her eyes, stretching to kiss him quietly, briefly, then looking to him to proceed.

Sherlock’s thoughts raced at a dizzying speed as he regarded Tessa’s open, honest face.  He knew what he felt at the moment was as much chemical as anything else; the addict in him recognized the feel of dopamine and oxytocin as they hit his system.  That was fact.  But there were so many more elusive things at play here.  Tessa’s ever quiet patience with him; her commitment to remain at his side this night as she understood he would be uncomfortable; the lilt of her laughter and the way she would lean against him at times--often when he wasn’t expecting it; the taste of her mouth and the silk of her hair when it brushed against his skin; her optimism and resilience.  That he had seen those other men look at her, which she either didn’t notice, or more likely ignored as meaningless. And all the ways that Tessa showed him again and again, that she wanted—above all else--to be his.     

Her face in the moonlight was all he could see now, as his mind finally reached the inevitable, but no less surprising, conclusion.  Against his nature, he wanted her.  Against all odds and as unlikely as London snow on Midsummer Day, he wanted her.  Reason couldn’t factor this or logic it away.

Tessa saw all this play across his face, but as rapidly as his thoughts progressed, she could not follow.  She could only watch, waiting, hoping that whatever it was, he would turn to her if needed.  When he did, it was swift and resolute.  

Sherlock pulled her to him, his lips overwhelming her with sudden ferocity.  They were standing on the street, in full view of passersby, but he just couldn’t care about that anymore; didn’t care at all as he held her face in his hands, kissing her as she trembled with surprise and happiness. 

When he broke the kiss, gasping for air, Tessa whispered in amazement, “Oh Sherlock, you’ve never done that before.”

His eyes were closed as he grappled to control this strange, new impulse, “I never _needed_  to before,” his voice a little rough in his distress.  “Perhaps we could take a cab back to your flat?  I’m not feeling quite myself.”

 

_(to be continued)_


	3. Chapter 3

_“Just let me say my goodbyes, and you can take me where you will.”_

 

 

Sherlock was gazing out of the window of the taxi, pondering her simple statement and the layers of meaning it possessed.  He recognized that Tessa might misinterpret his silence for disquiet, but his mind was in unexpected tumult and he needed to think these things quite through. He had known for some time that his affection for Tessa had grown beyond anything he had previously experienced for a woman.  Well, there had been that business with Irene Adler, and yes—if forced to—he could admit that he had been as attracted to her physically as he had been to her mind, deliciously deep and devious as it had turned out to be. But in the end, her true hard-heartedness, and her involvement in the intrigues of James Moriarity, had been abhorrent to him.  Solving her mystery had been the only satisfying thing that came out of that “relationship”, and he couldn’t even find it in himself to feel sorry for her plight at its resolution.

And just lately there had been dreams in which he had from Tessa things he knew she’d been longing to give to him.  These were the first such dreams he’d had since the callowness of his youth.  Waking from them now, he swiftly dismissed them, seeking as always the discipline of detachment, doing his best to ignore the physical ache they left behind.   As Tessa sat beside him in the cab, her hand nestled in his, Sherlock wondered if she’d been having dreams along the same lines.    

Tessa remained practically speechless as well, very nearly holding her breath, still thunderstruck at the bold hunger of Sherlock’s kiss, and now at his quiet.  Instinctively she felt they had taken a giant step forward; but he was so unlike any man she’d ever grown close to, that she couldn’t trust completely in that assessment.  Viewing it in terms Sherlock himself would favor…..she needed further evidence before drawing the conclusion her heart was hoping for.

Arriving at her flat, Sherlock discharged the cab, pausing on the sidewalk as it pulled away.  He had still barely spoken, his brow knit in thought.  Yet he placed a hand on the small of her back (not knowing, even now, how that simple gesture always sent a thrill of happiness coursing through Tessa’s body), guiding her to the door, standing close as she unlocked it.

They’d barely closed the door to her flat, when he had pulled her into his arms, with a passion she had seldom seen him muster. Again, it was the most urgent of kisses, as though it was a need, rather than just a want. Tessa kissed him back with the same fire, but then she lived for those moments to kiss him thusly.

As exciting and wonderful as it felt, Tessa still couldn’t help but question exactly why he was so suddenly zealous.  Her lips burned from his fervor, and she needed to know why.  She managed to pull back, catching her breath, laying her hand aside his cheek to get him to concentrate on what she had to say.

"What’s this?” she asked, a bit fretful, "Something’s changed, hasn’t it?"

Sherlock’s eyes appeared dazed, but slowly came to focus on her. “Yes.” He looked down, then back at her, clearly searching for the right way to answer. His voice held a rawness that heightened her concern.  "I’m ready now, if you want me; if you want to show me the way."

Of all the things Tessa might’ve expected, this was the least.  Astonished, she closed her eyes, trying to calm the happy racing of her heart.

“Oh my darling,” she told him, licking her lips, her voice pitched to sooth, “It’s really only a little farther now…..”  She trailed off, seeing his expression made him look conflicted.  Yet his answer to her was firm, “I know.”

"But what’s changed?" she asked softly.

Sherlock took a moment to find the right words. “Watching you tonight, seeing you in your element.  Not just the stage, but among your friends, your company.”  He gave a huff of a laugh, remembering, “ God, how you sparkled! The finest of diamonds. How those men looked at you.” His eyes were locked on hers.

Tessa tilted her head slightly, treading with care, this new ground, “Sherlock, you can’t be jealous, can you?”

“No.”  He drew a heavy breath, looked away a moment and then continued, “I think I saw myself, in their faces.  Do I look that way?  Hungry at the table, but waiting to be allowed to dine?” His expression was almost desperate, and Tessa couldn’t help but reach for him, touch his face, make him see the truth of it, "You’ve never had to wait, you know,” she reminded him, gentle with understanding, “I’ve been waiting for you"

"I know" He could see his revelation had touched her deeply, her eyes wide with wonder, her mouth open in surprise. "But I’m ready now for my fill—of everything you’ve been offering me…."

Neither moved or broke the weighty silence. The pivotal moment having arrived at last, Tessa wanted only to do right by this man who had finally reached the crossroads where she’d been lingering, hoping for him to join her. She had craved him for a while now, but his vulnerability as he stood before her, was enough to give her pause.  This was now as much a matter of his heart and what he needed, as an answer to mutual physical desire. Tessa felt the responsibility settle around her own heart, and knew _she_ could give him the things, perhaps, no one ever had.

Tessa felt tears prickle at her eyes, as the wonder of the moment filled her.  She was slow, deliberate, as she kissed his cheek, then whispered, “You can trust me, Sherlock.  Let’s find the way together.”  She felt him release some of the tension that had held him rigid, as his arms completed an embrace about her.  He breathed deeply, his face against her hair, until she tipped her head back in order to look at him.  Sherlock appeared calmer now, and she parted her lips in a small but knowing smile, then began kissing his mouth tenderly.  His kisses matched hers, measure for measure, and he clasped her closer still to him.

As the minutes passed, Tessa teased his mouth with her lips and tongue, their breaths mingling until he moaned softly into her mouth.  Sherlock managed a whispered “Tessa”, before she broke the kiss, so to tell him “Come with me,” running a hand down from his shoulder, all along his arm, to take his hand.  He followed without a word. 

Tessa led him into her bedroom, the one room of her flat he’d never been in before.  In the darkness, he cupped her face in his hands, kissing her ever more eagerly.  All his past reticence had disappeared, replaced with an urgency Tessa had yearned for so long to have him feel.  Sherlock was murmuring as his lips caressed her neck “So soft….so warm….my dear Tessa….”; to hear him thus made her feel like her knees might buckle and she would simply have to melt into him.  That would be soon enough, she realized, but for his sake she needed to slow things a bit.

She had to say his name twice before he heard her.  The light from the hallway was dim and it left his face in shadow, but Tessa could feel she had his attention, mayhap fleetingly in the rush of his desires. ”The lights?” she asked him, “Do you want leave off the lights?”

She heard his quick intake of breath, and knew he had paused to consider it, before asking her, “What do  _you_  want?”

Everything and more, was her first thought, everything we’ve waited so long for.  You, only you.  Her answer was simpler, “I want to see you, Sherlock.  Oh how I do.”  Tessa let go of his hand, and moved to the vanity; she switched on the small lamp there, and then picked up a silken scarf and let it flutter down over the shade. Turning to face him, she asked, “There, that softens it a bit, don’t you think?” 

In the low light, Tessa was struck anew by his masculine beauty, the dark mass of curls his crown, the singular mystery of his blue eyes, the fresh ruddiness of the skin upon his cheekbones, coloured now with wanting her.  Again, she felt weak, but the best kind of weakness, for she knew there was a strength in him she could depend on, just as she had tried to show him time and again that he could depend upon her. When she started towards him, Sherlock moved to meet her, reaching for her.  They came together at the side of her bed, but before he could hold her, she laid a hand on his chest.  There was one more thing she needed, for his sake more than her own.

They had never discussed the topic, and what small knowledge she had of his past relationships—derived from off-hand comments he had made—left her with the clear impression his experience was rare.  “Sherlock,” she said carefully, sensitive to his pride, “you have done this before, haven’t you?”  Tessa didn’t want to embarrass him, but she needed to know for certain, for surely it would affect how she should proceed.

He showed no surprise at her query, hesitating only a moment before answering, “Truthfully, not with a woman grown.  And frankly, not very well.”  Sherlock looked down, and when he raised his face, he wore that half-smile that had charmed her from the first, one of the dozens of things that had fated her to lose her heart to him so thoroughly. “Those few times were perfunctory, really,” he said wryly, “I was little more than a boy myself.”

“Sixth Form?”  Tessa smiled to think of him so young, wondering what he had been like and thinking he had to have been just as beautiful as the man before her.

Sherlock nodded his head, “Yes, and University.” He continued, a faint tone of self-deprecation in his commentary, “It was expected by then, you know…”

That was all Tessa needed to hear, making her wish all the more to give him the many things he clearly had been denying himself.  She shook her head, sighing with the longing she felt to satisfy him.

And so it was--Tessa moved behind him, reaching around for the lapels of his jacket, slowly sliding it off of him.  Sherlock stood quietly, eyes closed, plainly lost in the feeling of it all.  She draped the jacket on the post at the bottom of the bed.  Leaving one hand on his shoulder, she completed the circle, to stand before him again.  He opened his eyes to look down at her; Tessa’s gaze never wavered, even as she began to unbutton his shirt.  She pulled his shirttails loose, and undid the last button, beginning to kiss the expanse of his chest, her hands sweeping slowly, steadily down to his waist.  Sherlock remained still, breathing long and deep, at her caresses.

"Wait,"he said, as he touched her chin lightly, tilting her face up so he could see her as he spoke.  "Didn’t you say ‘skin against skin’, ‘nothing between us’?

Tessa closed her eyes, giving a little gasp of surprise, then saying, “You remembered.”  It was only the truth, but Sherlock could see how moved it had made her, the softness of her face beautifully tinged with all the longing she had never really hidden from him.  At last it was time for Tessa to act on her desires, and for Sherlock to share those things he had suppressed for too long.

He laid the back of his fingers against her cheek, Tessa leaning into his touch with a sigh. “Oh, I remember everything about you” he told her, glad to finally share what he had been holding close, his apprehension of admitting how much she had come to mean to him finally dissolving  She opened her eyes, dazed, as he continued, deliberate so she would feel his full meaning, “Every word you speak.  Everything you do.”

At that, she took a step back and lifted her blouse over her head, letting it fall to the floor.  The dusty rose lace that covered her breasts left little to his imagination.  Sherlock, marveling at the sight, whispered “Good god, you’re beautiful.”  Tessa’s mouth curved slightly, thrilled at his reaction; she answered breathlessly, “So are you”.

Any need Sherlock had for control was gone.  Tessa was—and had been for some time—his, and he claimed her willingly now, pulling her to him with haste, kissing her madly, her face, her neck, her shoulders; his hands sliding up her back from her waist, his elegant hands splayed across her shoulder blades, undoing her bra and sliding the straps clear of her shoulders, as she held tight against him, covering his skin with her softest kisses yet.  Sherlock paused to look at her again, his eyes lingering on her breasts, seen for the first time in the muted light, then he crushed Tessa to him, reveling in the feel her skin on his, and fulfilling that wish she once had made.

His kisses became hungry and probing, for he wanted every part of her now.  Tessa’s mouth and hands were as fervent as his, and she fitted herself against him, game to his will, the little sounds of her pleasure encouraging him on.  Sherlock’s hands on her waist, searched for the zipper of her skirt and finding it, eased it down, careful not to catch her precious skin, sliding the skirt from her hips, so it too landed on the floor; Tessa stood naked in his arms, but for the satin cloth of her panties.

She had found his zipper as well, and pulled it down, biting his lip softly as she did, utterly disrupting his focus, dizzying him, making him pant out her name.  Tessa reached beneath his trousers to feel him through his boxers; Sherlock gasped in surprise and pleasure at her bold grasp; Tessa gasped in delight at what she discovered was in store for her; she caressed him through the fabric, her desire to please him clear.  He began to wonder if he might even last enough for them to couple.

Perhaps Tessa sensed this, for she lightened her touch, moving her other hand up to his shoulder, boosting herself enough to whisper in his ear.  ”Now, Sherlock,” her warm breath in the hollow of his ear, “take off my panties, please.”  He immediately slid his hands down her back, cupping her bottom, sliding them off of her, then rose back up to face her again; as he did so, he brought one hand to linger between her thighs.  Her eyes widened, her pupils dilated in the muted light. “Dear god…” she crooned, overcome by his touch.

Sherlock’s senses were alive in ways beyond their normal range.  He tasted the salt of her skin, felt the tremble of her lips and hands as they explored him, relished each breath and little sound she made as though they were the finest of music. As she kissed the hollow of his neck, Tessa put a single finger under the waistband of his boxers, running it along the length of his abdomen, then back again, coming to rest her fingers below his navel, slowly working her way downward, brushing against his erection, delicate touches that only increased the heat he was feeling there.   His head falling back, Sherlock closed his eyes, giving a guttural moan.  

When Tessa broke that contact, Sherlock opened his eyes to see she had lain across the bed.  He needed no further prompting.  Her pushed his trousers and boxers to the floor, and knelt on the bed above her.  Tessa rose up onto one elbow, reaching for him; as if reading his mind, she took that part of him fully in hand, her cool skin soft against his hot steel. He exhaled forcefully, his mouth a wide O of ecstasy, thenhe came down over her,hands on either side, but letting her lead.  Tessa’s face and neck were flushed with excitement and she was breathing shallowly in anticipation. She pulled him gently down upon her, the closest they had ever been.  Bending her knees to accommodate him, she guided him where they both burned for him to be. Tessa paused with him against her cleft; he could feel she was more than ready; but she took that moment to make sure his eyes were on hers.  ”I want to see you,” she said, her voice low, breathy with yearning, “I want to feel what you feel.  I want to please you.”  Sherlock, in the heat of his desire, couldn’t find words to respond to her declaration; instead he nodded his head slightly, his eyes still on hers, and she slid him inside of her at last.

Sherlock’s body shuddered at the sudden, delicious sensation, the feel of her enveloping him.  It had never been this divinely overwhelming with the others he had known.  The heat and the wet of her swallowing him, driving him on.  Tessa moaned with each of his thrusts, moving under him, with him in perfect sync.

She soon wrapped her legs around him, allowing him to penetrate her more deeply.  Her hands were on his loins, pulling him in. “Oh yes,” she said, breathing raggedly “yes, oh yes.  I’ve wanted you like this for so long.  Please. Don’t stop.  I need you…”

Their kisses were sloppy now, messy, greedy, on mouths, on necks, shoulders, chests.  Hands moved to tangle in one another’s hair, then back again to hips and thighs, longing, grasping, seeking satisfaction as much as to satisfy. 

Sherlock could feel his climax growing ever nearer.  He didn’t want it to happen so soon, but he knew he couldn’t stop it.  This first time with her, he had no control; his mind no longer the driver, his body responding to the stimulation as nature intended.  ”Tessa,” he panted, “I…I can’t hold back…it will be soon…”

"I don’t want you to hold back" she gasped with pleasure, "Don’t stop. Fill me.  Oh please, I want to feel all of it."  Her cheek, always so soft against his, seemed to smolder with the friction of their movements.  He wanted more time, more time to relish each sensation he was feeling, but that was no longer possible.  Involuntarily, Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut as he gave over to the momentum hurtling him forward.

And then all his being was focused on the place they were connected so intimately, and he exploded and flowed into her, after all those years of the ascetic life he’d chosen for himself.  In those moments, he was unaware of time or place, only being and harmony and release.  Tessa was speaking softly, tremulously, against his ear “Oh Sherlock, yes, yes my darling, yes.”, but he couldn’t even fix upon that.  

Spent at the last, his breath heaving and then slowing, he opened his eyes to find her looking up at him languorously.  It was still a little bit until he could speak, and when he did, his voice sounded deeper in his ears than he’d ever noticed, asking her, “I…um…did you…?” 

Tessa closed her eyes as a small smile lit her face. “Yes, yes I did.” She opened them again, “And it was heavenly.”  She began to tenderly kiss his cheek, his jawline, his neck.  Sherlock, relaxed already, savored her sweetness.  

He kissed her forehead softly, and found himself asking “Why ever did we wait this long?”  Tessa smiled in full, laughing gently, “ _You_ said it was a courtship.”  She bit her lip, her eyes alight with amusement.  Sherlock broke into a wide grin, “I did, didn’t I?” starting to laugh as well, the deep, hearty laugh she’d told him had captured her attention at their beginning.  

Tessa gave a little gasp of disappointment as Sherlock withdrew from her. Of all they had just shared, he found that to be the dearest of moments; that even satisfied, she didn’t want to let him go. He moved to lay by her side, facing her as she turned to him.  Lovers now, they twined their free hands together, each memorizing the other’s look of content.

They spoke very little in the minutes that followed, satisfied to breathe each other in, sharing quiet kisses and whispered endearments.  Neither was ready for sleep, preferring this waking dream to any other.

Their lovemaking so far different from the rushed and clumsy encounters of his youth, it surprised Sherlock to find he was growing aroused again already.  The need not yet as strong, but his pulse was quickening and he felt a wonderful urge to sink into whatever his body was telling him.  Tessa’s head on his shoulder, his head inclined against hers, he could not stop from asking, “So, my dear…” He felt her head move a fraction as she paid him close attention, “how long until we can go again?” 

His earnest question made her purr pleasantly, as she scattered kisses on his neck and shoulder.  There was a hint of happy laughter as she answered, “My darling, it’s all  _your_ timetable.”  

“Well that’s,” he waited as he cupped her breast, kissing her brow, then her eyelids, letting his mouth hover near hers, saying “….mmmm….so good to know…”

This time, Nature did not master him; rather, Sherlock controlled the pace, taking at leisure the things that passed in that earlier rush.  There was time to delight in each move and moment, Tessa yielding to him beautifully.  Buried deep inside her, murmuring “my sweet, sweet Tessa”, she gripped him even tighter, asking him to call her his.  When he did, she ground even harder against him, her moans increasing in intensity, until she cried out his name—once, twice, thrice--in utter abandon, as wave upon wave of her orgasm took her, bringing Sherlock to his.

He realized as they lay entangled in the aftermath, that it had not only been the way Tessa had given herself over to him so completely, not only the power of those physical sensations, that had driven him to his own climax, but as much and perhaps more, the way she had cried out his name as she came. From the depths of her soul it had seemed, as though he was the very center of her world.   If Sherlock had asked her, Tessa would have told him it was exactly so

Tessa still lay on her back, visibly weary, but content. Sherlock leaned above her, wanting to commit how she looked to memory, a treasure to keep for colder days when she might be far from his side.  In his astonishment, he tallied the lovely details; her dazed, unfocused eyes, the red of her cheeks where his stubble had burned against them, her kiss-engorged lips, her shallow breathing--made her the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.  Sherlock told her so, and Tessa looked away, her lashes hiding her eyes from him, “Please,” she said softly, “Sherlock, please don’t say such things.”  She looked back at him, seeming to be embarrassed by his unabashed compliment.

Sherlock laid his hand against her cheek, intent that she see his statement was entirely heartfelt, “I _have_ to say it, Tessa.  It’s the truth.”

 _S_ he held his gaze, perhaps probing his sincerity. What Tessa saw in his eyes brought a slow, sweet smile to her face.  Yet she looked sleepy, worn out by their passions.  Sherlock knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from wanting her yet again, and soon, but he could see she was fading fast to sleep.

Smiling still, she ran her fingers lovingly through the curls upon his brow, the roots damp from their exertions. “You’re like the sun to me,”  Tessa murmured quietly, “and I’m just this little piece of flotsam, caught now in your gravity……”, she trailed off with a small yawn, closing her eyes as sleep at last overtook her.

Sherlock kissed her cheek tenderly, before laying back beside her, closing his eyes as well, falling swiftly into the most satisfied sleep of his life, knowing without her speaking the actual words, that he was finally, deeply and truly, loved.

 


End file.
